


Training Mat

by Ghelik



Series: The 100 Fics [67]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Minor Emori/John Murphy (The 100), Pre-Season/Series 05, spacekru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 08:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17019006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: What Echo thought was just a mat to train flexibility and agility turns out is a game skaikru calls "Twister".





	Training Mat

**Author's Note:**

> For dearest Erin, who has been wanting this for months. Written while assembling IKEA furniture, because the muses hit you over the head in the most random of moments.

Deep breaths.

In.

Out.

Leaning all her weight on her hands, Echo rises her left foot and moves the leg slowly forward towards the right spot. It’s pretty far away, but manageable. The plastic matt is slippery, but the dots are big. This is a beginner’s matt, but it’s the only one she’s managed to find, and it feels good to train again.

Carefully, she twists her upper body, resting her weight on her left leg and left hand to spin the pointer.

The trick is in the breath.

Deep, slow, calm.

In.

Out.

 

***

 

Watching Echo train is mesmerizing. Bellamy must admit he’s been fascinated with the control she has over her body, the calculated ease with which she moves.

He started watching her by accident, once he was walking down a corridor, and he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

It was years ago, about eight months into their new life on the Ring, a time when everything about her made his blood boil. But even back then, he must admit, he was mesmerized. For half a minute he studied the controlled movement of her long limbs, not with anger, not thinking about how she was still alive when so many others – friends, children, people who deserved it, Clarke – were not. But instead fascinated by her strength, the way she was still honing her body and mind, the long lines of a warrior readying herself to a potential battle. The inherent beauty and value of this person he knew so little about. Who was willing to fight and make herself useful even when surrounded by strangers, even when everything she knew was dead.

A moment later she turned to him, straightening like a child caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar and the moment was broken. She was a stranger, a potential enemy and he was back to being angry.

Bellamy is not angry anymore. Hasn’t been for the longest of times.

Life on the Ring is not easy, but at least he hasn’t been running for his life in at least two years. The people around him are trustworthy and…

His eyes travel down the warrior’s body, knowing perfectly well she knows he’s watching. Bellamy doesn’t think he can ever be sneaky enough to have a drop on her and the fact that she always lets him watch feels like a privilege. A small gift.

Over the years he's discovered a side of Echo he had never seen on the ground: not just loyal and fierce, not only brave and skilled, but funny and smart, quiet and calm, practical and, above all else, kind.

She's been there whenever he was feeling sorry for himself when Murphy needed someone to back him up with his secret fire bucket when Monty couldn't use his hands or when Harper had a panic attack. She has been helping Raven get stronger, to fight against her chronic pain, and shares grounder tidbits and jokes with Emori.

He should do something for her, it will be the day they have assigned as her birthday soon.

 

***

 

“This is getting ridiculous.”

Monty turns to Raven, a small frown on his brow. “What is?”

“This whole pining from a distance. I’ve had to stop Murphy from locking them up in a closet twice already.”

Monty turns back to Bellamy, who is standing stock still at the door of Echo’s training room. They all go there once a day for regular exercise and combat lessons with the spy but know to leave her well alone when she’s training alone. Monty is curious as to what she does in those sessions, but Bellamy’s the only one who is allowed to stand at that door and watch.

Which in Monty’s - admittedly limited - experience, is a pretty clear sign that separates Bellamy from the rest of the mortals on the Ring.

“Maybe he’s psyching himself up?” Monty knows it can be hard to open up to someone. Fear of rejection and all that jazz – and Echo is a very intimidating person. He himself squandered many possible opportunities because he was too shy or too scared.

“Are we talking about Bellamy’s pining?” Murphy appears out of nowhere, throwing his arms around Raven and Monty’s necks. “Mori thinks they only need ‘a push.’”

“And what do you think?” asks Monty.

“I think they need to get whacked over the head with a large chair.”

“Echo would tear your limbs off before you could lay a hand on Bellamy,” teases Raven.

“Bellamy would probably stop her before any real damage can be done,” argues Monty.

“Well, at least someone’s got my back.”

“Don’t be sad, Murphy. We know how to pick our battles.”

The young man looks at his friends. “So, neither of you think there’s something that needs to be done about those two?”

Raven smirks. “Well… we didn’t say do nothing.”

 

***

 

“Hey, Bellamy, could you come see… Is that a Twister board?”

Bellamy jumps a foot in the air at Harper’s sudden appearance. Echo, always more graceful and composed, stands carefully up, the redness of her cheeks the only indication that she was startled.

The skaikru woman doesn’t notice; her eyes fixed on the little roulette at the spy’s feet. Echo notices and shifts on her feet. “You know this exercise?”

“Of course. This is the Twister game we’ve talked about. I can’t believe you had Twister on the ground.” Harper turns to Bellamy. “And you didn’t tell us she had it?”

Echo blinks. “A child’s game? We used boards like these to train agility and flexibility.”

“In my defense,” grumbles Bellamy, rubbing the back of his head with embarrassment. “I never played Twister and didn’t know what it looked like.”

Harper’s face softens. “Why don’t you bring it to tonight’s game night? So we can all play.”

Echo nods. “Of course. I didn’t know I was depriving you.”

Harper’s smile is enough to lighten up the room. “You’ll see, it’ll be fun,” says Bellamy only to see Echo’s face softening.

“If Emori’s playing it will just be an excuse to get naked.”

Harper saunters off without noticing Echo and Bellamy’s suddenly paler faces as they hurry to look away from each other.

 

***

 

The whole group’s extremely pleased when she unveils her training mat and wheel. Even Raven, who can’t play due to the stiffness of her injured leg.

Echo and the mechanic have been training over the years to ease her pain and allow her greater freedom of movement, but they both know she’ll never go back to her original flexibility, her range of movement forever impeded.

“Whoever falls has to lose a piece of clothing or get disqualified,” decides Emori with minimal prompting.

Bellamy shifts uncomfortably on his chair, and Echo takes a swing of her drink. She can point out with ease who will be the first one to fail – Harper, he has no flexibility whatsoever– and who might be the longest to last - Murphy, who is extremely flexible for a guy. But she’s more worried that Bellamy’s stubbornness and the enthusiasm with which he refuses to back down from any challenge might leave him in nothing but his birthday suit in no time at all.

Echo doesn’t have any problem with nudity, as long as it’s not Bellamy’s. The thought of being wrapped around him on the weird positions the training matt forces you to take, the tantalizing lines of his body inches away from her, his smell all around, his skin glistening with sweat like a treat hanging right in front of her face.

“What do you say, Echo?” Emori’s eyes sparkle with mischief, which means she’s convinced everyone else.

The spy smiles.

It’s not like this will be the first time she’ll be surrounded by a nearly nude Bellamy. In the past two and a half years, Emori’s enthusiasm towards nudity has found itself in most of their game nights. This shouldn’t be any different than playing poker sitting across from him.

Or their training sessions, when he dismisses his shirt after it’s been soaked through and clings to those beautiful shoulders of his…

“Of course. I’m always glad to wipe the floor with you.”

She toes her shoes off catching Harper and Monty’s winking to each other out of the corner of an eye.

This is a very, very bad idea.

 

***

 

He should quit.

He really should quit while he can.

“Left foot to yellow.”

He would glare at Raven if he were able to raise his head. Harper quitted after losing her shirt and undershirt. Monty was the next one, when he was just in his briefs and left sock, and Emori was disqualified two minutes ago, after losing every piece of clothing except for her headscarf. Which means it’s just Murphy, Echo and him. Murphy. The young man hasn’t lost any clothing, but Bellamy knows he’s quickly losing interest.

To put his left foot on the yellow dot, he has to straddle Echo which shouldn’t be a problem. They’re both more or less clothed – him having lost only his socks shirt, undershirt, and belt.

Echo’s bent over backward in a position that cannot be comfortable and that he hopes she’ll get to change soon. Her shirt has ridden up, and the muscles look like iron bands he wants to trace with his tongue.

He really should just quit.

Bellamy puts his foot on the yellow dot, and he must imagine the way she seems to arch a little more against him. It’s probably him, seeking friction or something.

He needs to quit right now.

Echo’s eye catches him, and he freezes in a panic.

She knows. She knows. She knows.

“Ok, Murphy,” says Raven.

“Isn’t it my turn now?” grumbles Echo, her left arm is shaking slightly.

“Nope. First Murphy and then you.”

He’s pretty sure Echo’s turn was before Murphy’s

Bellamy would glare at Raven if he could tear his eyes off the droplet of sweat rolling down the long curve of Echo’s neck. His heart is pounding. Which is ridiculous. This is not the first time they’ve been this close, they spar regularly and it often ends in positions similar to these. And ok, his mouth runs dry every single time she straddles him, or when he’s flat on his stomach with her pinning him to the floor and her breath ghosts over his ear in a whispered “you’re dead.” But that’s due to the adrenaline and endorphins and whatnot – Monty could possibly explain, if he were inclined to let him know about this.

Right now it’s the line of her profile, inches away from his face that has his heart racing.

Murphy nudges him, and he has to move his right hand or fall on Echo.

His fingers brush against Echo’s, and he has to fight the urge to caress her. The spy closes her eyes, a nearly inaudible whine escaping her throat. He doesn’t so much hear it as feel it in his very core.

“Echo,” says Raven, snapping her fingers against the plastic arrow on the dial. “Left hand blue.”

He sees her take a deep breath, sees her chest expand with it, the taught muscles of her belly loosening slightly. Watching her move slowly but surely, sweat beading on her skin, making her glisten

 _And how would she look if it was you on the floor and her on top of you,_ whispers his treacherous mind. _Riding you so hard her whole body was covered in sweat and trembling._

Oh, this is becoming a very, very big problem.

She’s leaning to the side, her hip firmly pressed against his and _oh, gods she must know how he’s currently feeling about this._

And then Murphy brushes her right hand off the mat. For half a heartbeat Bellamy knows she’s going to fall. Her left arm, already in the air wraps around him, and he does what every decent human being would do when playing a game.

He wraps his arms around her, pulling back to prevent her from falling on her head. He lands hard on his knees, but he’s only marginally aware of the impact — the rest of his brain too busy cataloging the feel of Echo’s strong arms around his neck, the hard lines of her belly and surprisingly pliant softness of her breast pressed against him.

_Let go of her, you creep._

The jump apart at the same moment.

“It is late” Echo flows seamlessly from her knees to her feet. “I bid you all good night.”

Her leaving is less fleeing than a strategic retreat as she walks away with the pride of a queen. Bellamy stands up with way less grace. “Yeah.” He clears his throat and prays any god that might listen that his friends are – somehow- not noticing the effect this moment just had on him. “So, see you tomorrow.”

He manages not to run until he’s out of the room, the rest having the decency of leaving him alone.

 

***

 

Echo paces.

It’s an unseemly habit, but she needs to get rid of some of this excess energy that keeps coursing through her veins, making her muscles sing with the need of movement.

 _Get a grip, girl_ , grumbles spymaster Murray in her mind.

It’s been three years, she should’ve grown used to Bellamy by now. Every single infatuation she’s had since the “incident” with stable boy Paddy went away. This should be the same. There’s no reason why she should be thirsting for the affections of a man who…

Her whole body shudders remembering Bellamy’s arms around her shoulders, and the very proof of his interest pressed against her waist.

Ok, he might be interested, but he’s…

Echo paces.

She’s made lists upon lists with reasons as to why she’ll never have Bellamy.

The argument “he’s not into you” being the first to having been crossed out of it. Echo was good at her job because she was capable of finding out what people wanted even before they knew it themselves, and she knows Bellamy’s hostility and mistrust towards her disappeared years ago. She also knows he’s been interested in her for a while now.

But he’s her commanding officer, her leader and she could never…

Someone knocks softly on her door, and for a second her heart stops. _Bellamy!_

“Echo? Are you in there?”

The spy swallows and opens her door to find the female half of the Ring’s population standing at her door. Harper, Emori, and Raven bring bearing gifts in the form of Monty’s algae beverage – he calls it beer, but any semblance between this and real beer is pure coincidence.

“Hey, girl,” Harper, the most subtle of her new Kru smiles at her. “You know what this is?”

“An invasion?”

“Girls night out!”

“It’s nearly noon.”

Echo isn’t proud to admit she’s spent most of her day pacing this room and avoiding every other person on the Ring, hoping her absence at breakfast wouldn’t be noticed.

“Girls day out!” shouts Emori, who, apparently, has already sampled Monty’s beer before barging to her room and plopping on her bed.

Echo smiles, accepts Raven’s bottle and settles for a few hours of fun.

 

She is drunk.

Around her, the other girls are passed out on her bed and the floor, but she can’t sleep. Careful not to wake them, Echo slips out of the room. And pads down the metal corridor.

Murphy’s sitting on his own staring into his fire bucket.

Out of all the members of this little clan they’ve built among the stars, Murphy’s the only one who seems to miss fire more than people. He’s drawn to it like Raven’s magnet, a force pulling him towards the element with a power that he can never escape. Echo knew a soldier in the Queen’s Army who had a similar ailment, a need, an addiction. He used flaming arrows and could sit for hours just watching the flames on the fireplace.

On the Ring fire must be kept a secret that everyone knows about. Monty always throws a fit if he catches Murphy with his fire bucket. Raven argues that having it is an unnecessary risk. And, while Emori and Echo understand their concerns, they’re both guilty of encouraging its existence. A small piece of the ground they can share with the skaikru man.

“Hey, Echo,” says Murphy, scooting a little to the left on his bench to let her sit down. The fire crackles and dances in the confines of the bucket.

She plops down, leaning her head on his shoulder. It’s always when she’s drunk that she misses her home the most. Misses the horses and the endless forests and the smell of fresh snow and the mouthwatering roasts and sweets, Trikru’s delicious cakes, or the casserole done by the nomad tribes of the Plain Riders.

They watch the fire for a while in companionable silence.

In all her life she never thought she would ever care so deeply about a people that weren’t Azgeda. That she would ever feel safe and cherished. That people would willingly have fun with her without having to deceive them.

“What’s wrong?”

Murphy’s voice is like the fire in the bucket: soft and rumbling, ethereal somehow. Not too long ago she wouldn’t have dreamed of ever showing weakness. She would never have dared to answer that question with honesty, for it would have been used against her at one point or another. Up here, with this new Kru, her head on her friend’s shoulder and fire warming her skin, she can finally be weak, if only for a second or two.

“I think I am in love.”

The man stays still for a moment. He doesn’t tease her; he doesn’t laugh or mock her. His arm around her shoulders tightens marginally, his fingers rubbing her arm. “It’s painful, isn’t it?” says without looking at her.

“Yes.”

“You should tell him.”

“I could never disrespect my king like that.”

Murphy snorts, the movement jostling her head. Her head is fuzzy with the drink, and the alcohol rumbles around in her veins.

“That’s silly.”

“I know. But it’s less embarrassing than the truth.” He doesn’t push. After a moment she feels her cheeks burning as she admits. “I am scared.”

His head falls on top of his. “It is terrifying,” he rolls his tongue over his teeth. “Then again, I don’t think you have anything to fear.”

“He deserves better.”

“So does Emori.”

 

***

 

This is ridiculous.

Bellamy steps out of the room that day with his mind set. He’ll just tell her. He’s over twenty-five years old. He needs to start acting his age. It’s not like this will be the end of the world. If she’s not into him, he’ll be able to move on. It might be awkward at first, but then they’ll just laugh about it. And when they get down to earth he’ll maybe meet someone else and forget about Echo.

It is a good plan; he tells himself as he marches to the sparring room.

The spy’s already there, and he loses his nerve as soon as he sees her. She smiles softly and guides him through the stretches like they do every other day. It doesn’t take long for him to notice that she’s hung-over, her movements sloppier and face more tired than usual.

Which means he manages to land one in every seven blows. In Bellamy’s opinion it's not a significant improvement, but every time she misses one of his attacks, she growls in frustration.

 _Maybe_ , he muses, _this is not the best moment._

 _Coward_ , whispers a voice in his head that sounds disturbingly like Raven’s.

He swipes her legs from under her and manages to pin her down on the floor. With one hand he immobilizes her hands over her head and brings the other to the side of her face before he knows what he’s supposed to be doing now.

Whenever Echo manages to best him like this, she crosses her forearm over his throat and grins in her victory, eyes shining, breathing hard.

His hand is frozen on her cheek. And he knows he should pull away. Ask her if she yields, declares himself the winner of the match, ask for a rematch. Something. Anything.

His thumb runs over the proud arch of her cheek, and she makes that nearly inaudible keening noise she made the other day. His blood sings. He wants to hear it again. Wants to find out what different sounds he can make her make.

“Echo, I…”

She launches herself up, her mouth crashing against his and his heart forgets to beat for a second.

She tastes like algae and the minty toothpaste they all use. She tastes of snow and winter and sandalwood. She smells of sweat and Murphy’s secret fire bucket and something that’s definitely just her, and he wants to drown in that smell. When she arches into him, his brain short-circuits. He feels her groan in his very bones.

 

***

 

It takes him three months before he can bring himself to say it.

She’s nearly living in his room now, her belongings spread everywhere in a way that’s so purely grounder. Those born on the Ark were taught from an early age about the importance of order. When living in a small, crowded space neatness is vital. Emori and Echo never had that need to use as little space as possible. Their world was infinite, and that shows in how they tend to leave stuff _wherever_.

Bellamy loves it. Loves that she’s claiming his quarters. Loves seeing her bra forgotten on the back of a chair, or finding her boots carelessly forgotten by the door.

Right now she’s thrown across their bed, socked feet kicked up in the air and nose buried in a book. The light of the digital reading tablet is illuminating her face and he knows. He knows she’s the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

“I love you, Echo.”

She turns towards him, eyes round and mouth slightly agape.

“What did you just say.”

“I am in love with you,” he repeats. He will repeat it until the end of time if only to see the happiness in her eyes, the slight blush on her proud cheeks and the blinding grin on her plump lips. She sets her book aside. “Come here.”

And, of course, he does.

Later when they’re both sated and panting and he has her taste on his tongue and she’s curled against him. She’s worrying her lip and Bellamy knows all too well that he shouldn’t have said anything. Too often he’s been in the position she is at, having someone say that they love you and being unable to say it back. He doesn’t mind. Maybe, someday she’ll feel like he does.

He cards his fingers through her hair. “You don’t need to say it back, Echo. I understand it’s too soon.”

Her snort is painful, though, and he has to fight the urge to pull away. He just said it was ok.

“You stupid, stupid man,” her smile is the softest he’s ever seen from her as she moves, rising slightly, like she’s loath to leave the warmth from his side but needs to raise her head to be eye to eye with him. “To think that I could ever look upon you and not love you” she sights against his lips. “That is just preposterous, my love.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was unbetad.   
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


End file.
